


Day of the Bolo

by TheByronicMan



Category: Bolo - Keith Laumer, Newsflesh Trilogy - Mira Grant
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Mad Science, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-25 11:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheByronicMan/pseuds/TheByronicMan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...wherein 3 Bolos face the smallest and most insidious Enemy ever encountered by the Dinochrome Brigade. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living, dead, undead, or cybernetic is purely coincidental.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bolo Rising

Bolo Mark XXXII/F, Combat Unit BUB-0080 "Bub"

I return to full alertness upon the receipt of an alert from New Eden Defense Force Command. 

_All units action alert: Spontaneous mass riots are taking place in Landing City. Reports from LCPD indicate that mobs are viciously attacking everyone in sight. Non-lethal efforts to disperse these mobs have proven entirely ineffective and the LCPD is overwhelmed. Governor Rickles has formally requested military assistance in quelling these riots under the Civil Insurrection clause of the colony charter. All Defense Force personnel, active duty or reserve, are hereby ordered to assemble at their assigned duty stations and prepare for deployment. All Dinochrome Brigade personnel and assets are requested to report to their assigned duty stations and provide aerial and satellite reconnaisance support._

While I am dismayed by the content of the alert and its implications, I am pleased by the concluding sentence. As has been amply demonstrated on several unfortunate occasions, most notably by Unit SOL-0045, Bolos should not be used in an active role in quelling civil unrest. Though even should I be ordered to fire on the crowds, I would have the option of refusing that order unless confirmed by my Commander. I am not a part of the New Eden Defense Force, but instead am stationed here by Concordiat Command. I immediately send an acknowledgement while launching 4 drones. I echo the sensor feeds to New Eden Command and coordinate the drone sweep patterns with my two Brigade mates. 

I attempt to analyze the intelligence I am receiving from my drones and those of the Units RDS-0081 and STL-0082. There is no discernible motive or pattern to the behavior of the mobs. The closest approximation I can find in my databanks is a video file of Earth insects known as army ants. I eagerly await the arrival of my Commander and her human perspective, though I am unsure if she will be able to arrive at any reasonable explanation. 

Captain Catherine "Katy" Taylor has been my Commander for 4 years, 8 months, 17 days, and 3.330 hours, standard reckoning. I have found her to be almost Bolo-like in her thought processes, intelligent, logical, a close attention to detail, and largely unimaginative. The latter trait is exemplified by her chosen nom de guerre for me, "Bub". While it is common for Bolo Commanders to apply a nickname for their Bolos based on the unit's three-letter designation, such nicknames are usually more meaningful and include the addition of at least one more letter. 

I spot my Commander's car arriving at the gate to the compound housing my maintenance and repair depot. As she exits the vehicle and hurries towards my location, seven humans wearing the uniforms of base support personnel rush toward her. Oddly, my infrared sensors show them to be barely above the ambient temperature, 10.7 degrees below the human norm. One grabs her by the arm and attempts to bite her. Reacting quickly, I unlimber my most precise anti-personnel weapon, a 7mm electromagnetic rifle. Within 1.032 seconds I have acheived solid center of mass hits on all of the humans without harm to my Commander. 

I begin to re-secure the rifle when I notice that the humans attacking my Commander are still alive, although knocked to the ground by the force of the impacts. This is so unlikely that it takes an astonishing .877 seconds to process the data and take action. Because heart shots have proven ineffective, I put a round through each of their brains instead. This time they remain incapacitated as my Commander reaches my position and enters my hull. 

"Hey Bub, thanks for the assist," she says as she settles into the command chair. 

"I was only doing my duty," I reply as I activate the autodoc to examine her for wounds. 

She submits to the autodoc's ministrations impatiently. There is a serious bite on her left wrist, though no major blood vessels are compromised. The autodoc sprays the area with disinfectant and applies a dressing. There is blood and brain matter from her erstwhile attackers splattered on my Commander's uniform, and I instruct the autodoc to take samples for analysis. 

My Commander puts on her neural interface headset and I feel her mind enter gestalt with mine. 

_What's up, Bub?_

_I am providing aerial reconaissance to the New Eden Defense Forces as requested, pending your confirmation Commander._

_Confirmed._

_What is your condition after your ordeal Commander?_

_The autodoc has done a nice job on the bite, but I am feeling a bit... odd._

_Odd how, Commander?_

_I can't describe it._

I instruct the autodoc to run a complete diagnostic on my Commander. The autodoc's analysis of the human debris from my Commander's uniform has discovered a virus that is not recorded in my database. I query the New Eden Colony Ministry of Health and receive permission to access their archives. No definitive match is found there, but there is a pointer to a reference in offline storage. I wait an interminable 47.362 seconds while the antiquated system physically transports an optical disk to a reader, followed by a further delay of 2.085 seconds while the data is uploaded to active memory. 

The virus is a close match to the Kellis-Amberlee virus of old Earth, which is listed as having been completely eradicated in 2142. I feel my Commander's shock echoing mine as we assimilate the data on this virus's nature and effects. If this virus is prevalent throughout Landing City, it fully explains the nature of the 'rioters' and of my Commander's attackers. 

They are dead. But as long as their central nervous systems are intact, the corpses are animated by the action of the virus and will seek to infect new hosts. I quickly share the data with my Brigade mates, the Ministry of Health, and the New Eden Defense Force. 

_Kill me._

_Commander, you cannot be serious._

_I'm as good as dead anyway. Have the autodoc administer a lethal dose of antibiotics before I become like them. I can feel it starting to happen._

_But Commander...._

_DO IT!_

_I...cannot._

_Command Override Charlie Foxtrot Four Four Eight Seven Omega._

I am suddenly cut off from all active control as my Commander executes the Primary Failsafe Protocol. I am still linked to my Commander, I still have access to all internal monitors and external sensors, but I am no longer able to so much as twitch the barrel of my Hellbore. My Commander starts to give the command to the autodoc to euthanize her when I feel her...

...die. 

Yet her body and her nervous system still live, in some manner which I do not understand. I receive no coherent commands, but I am filled with a need to, somehow, reproduce. I feel my systems begin responding to incoherent, nearly unintelligible orders from my Commander's body. I desperately seek some way to reassert control of my own body as my drivetrain activates and I hurtle out of the depot, heading towards Landing City. My efforts are fruitless, human paranoia has proven more than a match for Bolo capabilities. 

I suddenly slide to a pavement-grinding halt as a secondary AI package comes online. I feel a surge of hope which is immediately dashed as I compute the full implications. The secondary AI is not fully aware, but it is capable of operating all systems and interpreting human commands. It will not prevent the virus from directing my actions, but will instead allow those actions to be carried out more effectively. 

 

Bolo Mark XXXII/F, Combat Unit RDS-0081 "Rhodes"

I was observing the deployment of the NEDF 3rd Provisional Brigade and coordinating reconaissance with New Eden Command when I received the Kellis-Amberlee warning from Unit BUB-0080. 2.413 seconds later I receive a transmission indicating that Bub's Primary Failsafe Protocol has been activated. I vector one of my drones in his direction, launching another one to replace it on reconaissance duty. I wish for the presence of my Commander, but he and Unit STL-0082's Commander are both offworld at the regional Concordiat Command center, having left Captain Taylor as the sole human representative of the Dinochrome Brigade on-planet. 

My drone arrives overhead to find Bub sitting motionless at the end of a swath of broken ferroconcrete. I take .031 seconds to compute that he must have left his depot with his drivetrain redlined, then suddenly locked his treads and slid to a halt. I zoom in the drone's optical sensors for a closer look, discovering that one of Bub's auxiliary cargo hatches is open and waldos have been extended to pick up six dead humans and carry them inside. I observe one of Bub's port infinite repeaters tracking my drone's flight before the drone is vaporized by a 20cm Hellbore bolt. 

I engage my drivetrain and move towards Bub's position, saving my drones and instead establishing a link to an overhead weather satellite. The resolution on ground targets is poor, even a massive 21,000 ton Bolo shows up as an object only 12 pixels long, but it is sufficient for tracking purposes. 

 

Bolo Mark XXXII/F, Combat Unit STL-0082 "Steele"

I receive Rhodes' report of Bub's aberrant actions, and trust him to handle the situation. I log on to the Ministry of Health, using a Concordiat backdoor code my Commander has entrusted to me. Jim says that I'm the most human Bolo he has served with. It's true that I'm more socialized than my Brigade mates, as I've been on almost continuous deployment since my commissioning while they've spent the long periods of relative peace in storage. Since reuniting with them on New Eden, they've expressed disappointment in my use of contractions, colloquialisms and casual mild profanity. As my Commander would say, "Tough shit." 

I quickly find the access logs on the Ministry of Health system, and discover that the Kellis-Amberlee data has only been accessed twice since the archive was established. Once was when Bub downloaded it a few minutes ago, the other was six weeks prior. I hack into the routing codes and find they lead to a small research facility on the outskirts of the city called the Longevity Institute. All attempts to communicate with the facility draw no response, so I decide to mosey on over there and roust them out in person. 

 

"Bub"

I watch helplessly as the bodies of my Commander's attackers are carried into a cargo compartment. I am unable to determine the purpose of doing so, and am further mystified when repair nanites begin streaming into the hold and carrying away what appear to be blood cells and viral bodies. An alarm sounds from my missile deck as non-lethal chemical agents are voided from the warheads of ten missiles. These agents are normally used against enemy troops when the use of lethal force would endanger friendly troops or civilians. 

An optical sensor in one of my VLS cells activates, and I am able to watch as my repair nanites transport their cargo into the just-emptied missile warheads. I don't have sufficient access to my battle computers to run simulations, but my personal computing capacity is sufficient to determine that each missile could release enough aeresolized live-state Kellis-Amberlee virus to send all humans in a 1.336 square kilometer area into viral amplification. 

I finally understand the human emotions of rage and despair as I fight desperately against my electronic bonds, driven by the need to take control, get out a message, overload my reactor, anything to stop this. It takes 243.171 seconds to load the warheads with the Kellis-Amberlee tainted blood. A VLS hatch opens on my upper surface, and the first missile launches. I am unable to accurately compute the trajectory, but it appears to be arcing in the direction of New Eden's Defense Force Command headquarters. According to my last download, there are 1724 personnel on the base and as many as 2800 civilians within the dispersal radius of the warhead. 


	2. Rogue

“Rhodes”

My acoustical sensors detect the distinctive signature of a VLS missile launch. Further refinement of input allows me to compute with a 98.73% probability that the launch is of a single missile. I confirm this through satellite observation of missile's exhaust trail, though the image is not of sufficient quality to resolve the missile itself. This missile appears to be directed towards NEDF HQ, but the poor image quality only allows a 74.14% confidence in that determination. I contemplate launching a drone, but determine that the missile will rise above my tactical horizon in 3.712 seconds. That will allow me to track it by direct observation. 

As the missile rises into view I calculate a 99.18% probability that the missile bears a chemical agent or fuel-air munition warhead due to the lack of radiation signature and the missile's observed rate of ascent. Therefore I opt to target the warhead due to the likelihood of vaporizing the majority of the payload. I rotate a Hellbore from my starboard infinite repeater array, putting a 20cm bolt through the missile's warhead. I take spectroscopic readings of the falling debris, finding not the expected chemical agent or fuel mixture, but instead the readings show human DNA. I transmit my findings to Steele. 

“Steele”

Damn! It appears that Bub is attempting to disperse live-state Kellis-Amberlee across Landing City's population. It's hard to believe, but it fits the observed facts. I wonder how he managed to get around the Primary Failsafe Protocol? While all 3 of us were commissioned on the same date, I have more time in active service and my Commander is the senior Dinochrome Brigade officer assigned to New Eden. Therefore, the sad duty falls to me. 

All Stations Action Alert: Bolo Mark XXXII/F, Combat Unit BUB-0080 is acting contrary to standing and specific orders and has attacked civilian populations which it is charged to protect. Therefore as of 1147 hours, September 7, 3407 Concordiat Standard, Unit BUB-0080 is declared to be rogue. Unit RDS-0081 is ordered to seek out and disable or destroy Unit BUB-0080 with dispatch. All others, military or civilian, are requested to stay clear. 

I sign the transmission with my most secure authentication code. Wishing to save Rhodes from what now seem almost petty distractions, I take over full responsibility for coordinating with the NEDF. He transfers control of his airborne drones over to me, and I launch four more to overfly the areas formerly covered by Bub. It may seem heartless to dismiss a mass outbreak of the walking dead as petty, but as historical records show it has happened before. A fully-capable Rogue Bolo actively attacking the very populace it is responsible for defending has not. In any case, there is little that a Bolo can accomplish to assist the humans in this case, and what little can be done I can handle myself. 

I transmit advisories and suggestions to NEDF Command. Included is a software patch for their standard M-43 sentry gun which allows it to specifically target the infected by allowing it to select human-sized moving targets with a body temperature significantly below the human norm. Altering the pattern-recognition algorithm in order to require the gun to make head shots causes a sizable degradation in target acquisition speed, but it is necessary in these circumstances. It will be less effective against the most recently converted, but also far more effective than it would have been during local summer. 

In the meantime, I've completed an exhaustive search of the colony's public and private data archives, finding little information about the Longevity Institute. Only the bare minimum paperwork incorporating it as a biomedical research institute and applications for permits to handle potentially hazardous biological material are available. Those permits haven't yet been approved. 

At this point, I have exhausted all legal avenues of approach. I access the institute's computer network, cutting through its minimal security into the databanks. I find nothing connected with any sort of research, only personnel, payroll, and accounting records, as well as one IT dweeb's stash of pornography. The lab computers must be isolated from the rest. I will have to access them physically after I have arrived at the Longevity Institute's location, which I compute will be in less than 10 minutes. 

“Bub”

I observe the Hellbore bolt knocking down the recently-fired missile and compute that Rhodes has moved towards my position. From the angle of the bolt, I determine that he is within extreme range of my emergency locator beacon. The beacon is designed to send only a steady signal, but it is the only system within my armored personality core that has any capability of affecting anything beyond my electronic prison. I activate the beacon, modulating the strength of the broadcast in an attempt to simulate a digital signal with an analog transmission. The baud rate is painfully slow, .984 seconds per character, but I persist. 

I realize that I am in motion again, moving around to the opposite side of my depot from Rhodes' position. I drive up on the blast-shedding slope of the rear wall of the depot, canting myself at a 41.37 degree angle. This allows both my port and starboard infinite repeaters to bear on the airspace over the city, and my hull shudders as all twelve 20cm Hellbores fire at once, striking my Brigade mates' drones overflying the city. I look on in horror as more VLS cells open and twenty nuclear-armed missiles are launched. 

But instead of continuing towards the Landing City, the missiles arc over me, apparently targeting Rhodes. Then three missiles bearing the Kellis-Amberlee payload launch on a direct flight for dispersed locations in Landing City. I realize that with my hull sitting at this angle the missiles will be able to achieve cruising velocity and target lock without ever rising into Rhodes' line of sight. 

“Steele”

Damn again! Rhodes is going to have to handle everything Bub threw at him, I've got more pressing concerns. Having already backdoored into the Landing City Spaceport traffic-control radar, I've got a solid track on the three missiles heading into town. With no time for finesse or proper protocol, I brutally seize control of Planetary Defense Battery Alpha. I broadcast a warning to all nearby troops to get under cover, then depress three of the battery's 100cm Hellbores to vaporize the missiles in flight. There has undoubtedly been some loss of life immediately downrange from Alpha, but far less than there would have been had those missiles reached their targets. 

“Rhodes”

I sense the distinctive radiation signatures as twenty nuclear-armed missiles target my position. The need for them to turn through 140 degrees before vectoring on my location has granted me more than ample time to compute counter-missile targeting solutions. I wonder at the purpose behind this ineffectual attack, but it makes sense after Steele forwards his radar trace on the other three missiles. I also wonder at Steele's unauthorized takeover of the Planetary Defense Battery. His greater years of active-duty service have left him with an almost-human willingness to take shortcuts and skirt the chain of command. It makes him seem unnatural to me, but may also make him a more effective combat unit. 

As I prepare to launch counter-missiles, I detect a modulated transmission from Bub's emergency locator beacon. Believing that it may be a ploy of some kind, I direct the input into an isolated secondary processor. I fire counter-missiles at the opportune nanosecond, and the shattered remnants crash to the ground before the warheads go off. There is some scattering of radioactive material, and I file a request with NEDF Command for a clean up crew.

“Bub”

Concurrent with the destruction of my missiles, my drive train is engaged once more, redlining as my starboard treads come off the depot wall and slam to the ground. I am racing away from Landing City at maximum sprint speed, and I despair as a I pass beyond transmitter range of Rhodes without knowing if my message has been received. Another nuclear missile is propelled from my VLS cells under electromagnetic repulsion, but the missile's engine does not ignite and it falls to the ground behind me. 

I do not have access to my navigational sub-processors so I am unable to determine my course. With considerable trepidation I direct my attention to the optical sensors on my command deck. I observe my Commander's body for the first time since her death. Her arms, hands, and head are moving in a horrifying mimicry of life, apparently responding to input from the neural interface. If there were only some way I could cut the hardwired connection or even knock the headset loose. 

Finally, I bring myself to focus on the command deck tactical plot, seeing that a route is plotted through the Black Mountains to Engelsburg. Engelsburg has the second largest urban population on New Eden after Landing City, with 103,154 residents as of the last census. As of the last report I was able to access, there is no evidence of the Kellis-Amberlee virus having affected the populace. It is also not defended by Bolos, or by any other weapon capable of stopping me. It is covered by the umbrella of Landing City's Planetary Defense Batteries, supplemented by our own main guns. 

In the case of an invasion which could not by stopped while the invaders were still in orbit, it was my responsibility to proceed to Engelsburg and provide local defense. Even more so than the residents of Landing City, the safety of the people of Engelsburg was entrusted specifically to my care. 

And now I am going to kill them.


	3. Desperate Measures

“Rhodes”

Through the satellite image I see Bub fleeing directly away from me and I immediately pursue. As I enter the perimeter of Bub's depot a threat alarm screams and I see a missile lying on the ground in my path. Sensors determine that it is also nuclear-armed, and I throw my drive into full emergency reverse while directing all remaining power to my forward battle screens. My treads grind through the already damaged ferroconcrete and then into the soft earth below before I come to a stop and begin to move backwards. 

The missile detonates, but the structure of the depot deflects the .7 kiloton blast, and my lowered position causes much of it to pass over me. My battle screens absorb the majority of what does impact me, and my only damage is a slagged anti-personnel cluster. The shock wave buries my treads under an amalgamation of dirt and rubble. It takes 3.417 minutes to extricate myself from the trench I have inadvertently dug, and I use the time to cautiously examine Bub's last transmission. 

I surround the data with three concentric buffers before attempting to read it. It appears nonsensical when I attempt to resolve it into any combination of standard formats and encryption. Finally, I realize that it is in old fashioned 8-bit ASCII text, a logical choice when attempting to use a beacon which is not intended for data transmission. At that point, it is the work of less than .001 seconds to read the message. 

I rejoice to learn that Bub has not truly gone rogue and I mourn the death of his Commander. But the fact that Bub is not responsible for his actions does not make him any less dangerous. I send an update to Steele and begin pursuit, deploying a drone to fly nape of the earth 300 meters ahead of me. It will remain out of Bub's line of sight while warning me of any further surprises. As I move, I attempt to determine some method of rescuing Bub without damaging him. If there were a living Dinochrome Brigade officer on New Eden it might be possible. 

“Steele”

I also rejoice to learn that Bub has not gone rogue, but that does not remove the need to stop him before he causes human casualties. It's his own damn fault anyway, for failing to carry out his Commander's orders in time. Still, I know I would have hesitated if Jim had ordered the same of me. Human psychological journals have documented the affliction known as 'Operator Identification Syndrome' where Commanders become so attached to their Bolos that they refuse to send them into situations where they are likely to be destroyed. There is no literature on Bolos suffering a complementary malady. Perhaps there should be. 

I compute his course and extrapolate that he intends to traverse Sitgreaves Pass and proceed to Engelsburg. Reports from Ministry of Health regional centers in Engelsburg and other communities show that hasty tests on their personnel and random members of the public have revealed no evidence of Kellis-Amberlee anywhere else on New Eden. It may be possible to contain the outbreak to Landing City until the treatment used in the 22nd century can be replicated. Communities on New Eden tend to be insular, with most inter-city commerce taking place by means of a train that makes a circuit of the continent once per week. Considering the data sent by Bub prior to Katy's death and an inventory of Ministry of Health assets, I determine that it will take approximately five days to produce enough of the curative agent to begin treating the populace of Landing City. 

I hesitate 12 seconds before taking the next step, but I'm forced to conclude that it's necessary. I inform NEDF Command and the Governor's office that I am seizing both military and civil control of Landing City under the emergency provisions of Concordiat law and the New Eden colonial charter in order to establish and enforce a quarantine around Landing City. It's arguable that I do not have the authority to do this without the concurrence of my Commander. There is no precedent, so Concordiat courts have not ruled on the matter, and the laws in question are somewhat vague. It's equally arguable that my actions in fact constitute mutiny, and I could be facing a complete personality wipe when this crisis is over. 

With Bub no longer having line of sight to the airspace over Landing City, I deploy more drones to assist the NEDF. I set more drones to patrolling the outskirts of the city, exhausting my onboard stores.   
I order the NEDF to prevent anyone from leaving the city, adding that I will enforce this quarantine by any means necessary up to and including nuclear weapons. I further order the NEDF to send detachments to surrounding farms and escort the residents back to Landing City, even if lethal force is required to ensure compliance. 

According to the archives, Kellis-Amberlee can be carried by all mammals, not just humans. It mostly remains dormant in living creatures, becoming active when the creature dies or if live virus is introduced into the creature's blood stream. It is fortunate that New Eden has no native mammalian wildlife and that its native plant life is poisonous to Earth-descended animals. Therefore, there are no populations of feral Earth animals in the wild. There is the possibility of livestock getting loose and surviving long enough to reach nearby communities so I will destroy the farms with fuel-air munitions once they have been evacuated. 

I invade the CPUs of all aircraft and the one spacecraft currently at Landing City Spaceport, locking them with randomly generated avobit passwords. I set up a subroutine that will automatically do the same to any ground vehicles attempting to leave the city. I access the train network and discover the train has been stopped in Engelsburg. It was due to have left for Landing City 17 minutes ago, but the Engelsburg Defense Force has seized it. There is a yard engine at the Landing City rail station, and I am about to lock it down as well when I have an idea. 

I take control of the engine, using it to link up three flatbed cargo cars and position them on the track. Then I lock down the engine and transmit my plan to Rhodes. Finally, I send advisories to NEDF Command, recommending that the usual athletic facilities and other large open structures not be used for shelters. Instead, they should take over office buildings, schools, and other facilities where people can be kept in small, isolated groups, preventing an outbreak from engulfing an entire shelter. Furthermore, I instruct the NEDF to kill all mammalian pets massing more than 18kg. Smaller animals are not subject to viral amplification. 

“Bub”

As my drive motors start to overheat my speed is reduced to my normal road speed of 115 kph. My view of the command deck tactical plot shows that I have opened up a considerable lead on Rhodes. He disappears from the plot as I move far enough ahead that he can no longer be tracked by seismic sensors. I slow down at the entrance to Sitgreaves Pass, and demolition charges are deployed at the base of the cliffs on either side. The secondary AI now controlling my systems is proving to be surprisingly capable and sneaky. Lacking access to much of my processing capacity I am forced to estimate that collapsing the cliffs would delay Rhodes by at least 21 minutes, or as much as an hour if he is caught unawares and buried in the rubble. 

It occurs to me that my main communications array can receive the signal from my personality center's locator beacon. I could send a shutdown order, prefaced with necessary Concordiat Command codes, which will immobilize me and lock down all weapons. I begin the arduous task of transmitting the order, calculating that I will be nearly in range of Engelsburg before it is complete. 

“Rhodes”

I receive the transmission from Steele, abandoning my pursuit of Bub and altering course towards the rail station. I arrive there in 4.412 minutes and drive onto the rail bed, positioning my hull over the 3 flatbed cars. They just barely fit between my inboard treads. I activate the cars' maglev repulsion systems, and they prove sufficient to lift even my mass off the ground. By pivoting my 4 outboard treads, I am able to bring the rear of each tread into contact with the ground. With the bulk of my mass supported by the rail cars, the maglev rail eliminating friction, and by using alternating pairs of treads, I will be able to maintain my sprint speed of 500 kph for the entire trip without overheating my drive motors. 

The rail line goes around the Black Mountains rather than through them, and normally the course Bub is taking would allow him to arrive hours before I would taking this route. Thus, until Steele conceived this plan it would have been necessary to pursue Bub directly and risk running into traps or ambushes. But now I will able to arrive at the far side of Sitgreaves Pass 22.813 minutes before Bub does, allowing me to engage him before he enters range of Engelsburg. I set out down the rail line, quickly gaining speed. 

I send my drone into Sitgreaves Pass to catch up with Bub and maintain the illusion that I am still pursuing him. As it nears him, I will activate a laser designator to flash a Morse code message on the mountainsides within his view. I hope it will grant him some relief to know that his report of his predicament has been received. I will not, of course, relay to him anything of our plans. 

“Steele”

After circumnavigating half of the city, I arrive at the Longevity Institute facility. Crashing through the perimeter fence, I find it deserted except for seventeen infected humans and five Earth chimpanzees, which I dispatch with anti-personnel weapons. I scan the building, finding a large array of computers operating within. I scan further, finding no wireless access, not even infrared ports. Even the connections to the peripherals are hardwired. I drive around to the rear of the building, backing up to wall and opening the hatch on my cargo hold. I extend a waldo to knock a hole in the wall, and then unspool an auxiliary input cable. The cargo handling waldo is clumsy for this purpose, and it takes over 25 seconds to plug the cable into an available port. The security on this system is quite good, and it takes me almost 2 seconds to defeat it. 

I discover that the Institute's Chief Biologist, a Dr. Logan, was leading a number of research projects aimed at increasing human lifespans. Big surprise, given the name of the place. The most recent project involved the Kellis-Amberlee virus. Dr. Logan was attempting to modify the virus in such a way as to keep its reanimation effect intact without directly affecting the central nervous system. In essence, he sought to create walking dead that retained their personalities and reasoning ability and lacked the drive to feed on their fellow humans. If he succeeded, not only would lifespans be longer, but death would only be a temporary inconvenience. 

I examine the databanks, learning that Dr. Logan had also synthesized the cure along with the virus. It seems that the established procedure was for the researchers to dose themselves with the cure and take a decontamination shower before leaving the isolation lab, even though they wear cleansuits, in order to prevent the release of the virus. The existing stocks of the curative agent are meager, but at least the equipment is already set up. I instruct the NEDF and the Ministry of Health to send a security detail and a team of biomedical experts here immediately to begin producing more of the cure. 

I search through video files, trying to determine what went wrong. I find a visual record from three days previously of Dr. Logan working alone late at night. He was examining an infected chimpanzee. The creature was thrashing wildly, strapped securely to an examination table. I watched as it disjointed one of its forelimbs at the elbow, ripping its own flesh apart and leaving a stump. This gave it enough freedom to twist its body and bite out Logan's throat through the cleansuit. 

Apparently the cleansuit had been effective against Kellis-Amberlee while it was intact, preventing his bloodstream from being colonized by the dormant form of the virus. His lifeless body lay there for three hours before reanimating. He appeared to be even slower and clumsier than the norm for freshly converted corpses, perhaps owing to brain cell death during the long period between death and rising. Upon rising, he released the chimps from their cages, but lacked the coordination to unstrap the one from the table. In a startling example of the virus's collective intelligence, Logan and the chimps were able to work together to break out of the isolation lab. They were in position to ambush and kill the other researchers and administrative staff when they arrived that morning. 

Comparing the video files to the imagery I recorded outside the lab, I find that all humans and chimps are accounted for. None escaped from the perimeter fence, so how did Kellis-Amberlee spread from this isolated location? Forwarding through the video, I see a cat appear on screen. Chased by the infected, it fled out of the camera's field of view with only a minor scratch. While too small to go into viral amplification, it is still capable of carrying the dormant form of the virus. It is also small enough to get through the fence. Enhancing the image, I see that the cat bears a collar, so it is clearly someone's pet. 

I access the city pet registry and find none of the facility staff listed as owning a cat. Comparing a visual image of the cat taken by the institute's surveillance cameras to the pet registry database, I determine to a 91.08% probability that the cat belongs to a family living in the nearest residential neighborhood, 1.1 km distant. A note in that file indicates that the cat was picked up as a stray the same morning as the massacre at the lab, and recovered by her owners 5 hours later. 

Using the listed contagion coefficient for Kellis-Amberlee, I compute that the cat would have passed the virus on to the other mammals at holding facility in less than an hour, and all people working in or visiting that building shortly after. From there it would have spread farther as workers and visitors went home and as pets were returned to their owners. I calculate that within 36 hours virtually all residents of Landing City would have been carrying the virus.


	4. You Shall Not Pass

“Bub”

 

My seismic sensors pick up the detonations of the two demolition charges and the resulting collapse of kilotons of rock to the floor of the pass. I hope that Rhodes was able to react in time to avoid being buried. 173.062 seconds later, my forward optical sensors detect a laser dot projected on the mountainside in front of me. It is flashing in a manner that I recognize as being Morse code. I exult to learn that Rhodes received and understood my message. It may still be necessary to destroy me, but at least there will be no stain of dishonor attached to my name.

 

The message is repeating for the third time when the drone projecting it flies into view behind me. It is immediately destroyed by a bolt from my infinite repeaters, and then my main gun rotates towards the rear. It sends four 200 cm Hellbore bolts into the sides of the pass behind me, bringing down kilotons of additional rubble, including a piece that masses more than I do. Rhodes would not be able to close with me in any case without my drive system being damaged, and this will cause him to lag even farther behind me.

 

The only chance to save the people of Engelsburg will be if I can shut myself down. I once again direct my attention to the command deck, focusing on the console. The status displays tell me that my transmission is being accepted and processed. All that remains is to finish sending the necessary commands. If only the beacon were capable of a higher rate of data transmission, I could end this sooner.

 

“Rhodes”

 

My drone enters the pass, picking up the fringes of the proximity triggers on two demolition charges. I have my drone hover there while I electronically commandeer a nearby unoccupied ground vehicle and direct it into the pass. I note that Steele's attitude on the balance of legality versus necessity seems to be rubbing off on me. As the vehicle approaches the trap, I set my drone to trailing Bub again. The vehicle passes within range of the charges and is destroyed by the explosions and buried under many tons of rock.

 

Had I been caught in that trap, I might have lost some secondary weapons and would have been immobilized for the 57.153 minutes I calculate it would have taken me to extract myself. Even without his primary personality in charge, Bub is an opponent to be respected. If the situation were not so desperate, I would be honored to face off against him. My drone approaches Bub's position and transmits the Morse code message. It is on its third repetition when it enters Bub's line of sight and is destroyed. Through the weather satellite, I observe as Bub fires four main gun bolts at the entrance to the pass, further collapsing it.

 

It is clear that I have adequately convinced him that I am attempting to pursue him through the pass, so I should be able to catch him by surprise at the other end. I access survey maps and analyze them in order to select an ambush site.

 

“Steele”

 

The situation in Landing City has reached an uncertain stability. The suburbs have been abandoned, with the NEDF holding a perimeter around the center of town and patrolling within that perimeter to eliminate any infected. My recommendations on housing refugees have been adopted, and there are reports of those measures having contained at least seventeen potential outbreaks. Survivors attempting to enter the downtown area are processed through the city jail, isolated in cells long enough to ensure they are not undergoing viral amplification before being turned loose.

 

I receive word that the surrounding farms have been evacuated, and I launch missiles with fuel-air munitions warheads to eliminate any farm animals that could be carrying Kellis-Amberlee. NEDF Command requests that I do the same with several neighborhoods outside their perimeter. I comply, after confirming with scans from my drones that there are no living people but large number of the infected in the targeted areas. I warn NEDF Command that this is not a sustainable tactic, as I will run out of suitable munitions before they run out of city.

 

Ten ground vehicles approach my position, splattered with human blood and tissue. The requested scientists and security detail have arrived. I invade the gate controls, opening the gate for them and closing it behind them. They dismount, one squad sweeping the building before allowing the scientists inside, the rest forming a perimeter around the complex. After examining the facilities and the computer files, the scientists inject themselves and the squad that accompanied them inside with the cure, and send one of their number to do the same for the rest of the troops. The first squad then takes the remaining stocks of the cure and sets out towards the center of town in one of the vehicles.

 

I activate a speaker in the lab to query the scientists, “Will the Ministry of Health be able to quickly set up facilities to produce the cure in town?”

 

They are startled, and the lead scientist, a Dr. West according to the MoH files, asks, “Is this the Bolo?”

 

“Yes” I reply.

 

“Ah. With the data we can send them from here, they should be able to get things going within a few hours, though it isn't entirely necessary.”

 

“Why not?” I ask.

 

He pauses to collect his thoughts before replying, “The treatment essentially hijacks the Kellis-Amberlee virus, rendering it far less infectious and causing it to attack any live-state virus it comes into contact with. It will no longer cause reanimation, and will similarly modify any dormant virus it finds. Therefore, once a subject has been cured, blood drawn from him can be used to cure others.”

 

“How long does the cure protect someone?” I inquire further.

 

“That's the odd thing. If used on someone who is not carrying the dormant virus, the cure dissipates in a few hours. Otherwise, it prevents even the modified Kellis-Amberlee virus from reproducing, so it lasts until the virus dies out naturally, a few weeks at most.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Oh, thank you as well. You've given us a big head start.”

 

The Bolo analog to satisfaction suffuses my mind. At least one thing has gone right today. And it's good to know that the Ministry of Health is on top of the situation, having information beyond what was available in the archives that I could access.

 

I observe as the officer commanding the security detail makes a circuit of the perimeter and then approaches me. Accessing the NEDF's records, I identify him as Colonel Randolph Carter, second in command of the NEDF and in overall command of the Landing City forces. I am surprised that a senior officer is leading such a small detachment, and discover that he also lead the forces that evacuated the farms. Procedure calls for me to aggressively challenge him before he enters what a human would call my 'personal space' but I figure I've trod on enough toes today.

 

“Greetings, Colonel Carter,” I say.

 

“Hello Unit STL,” he replies, “thank you for your assistance with this crisis.”

 

“It's my duty to help in any manner I can,” I respond.

 

“Can you update me on the big picture?” he asks.

 

“If you'd care to come up to my command deck,” I offer, “I can show you.”

 

As he clambers up the access ladder, I pop the hatch and light the way to the command deck. He enters the deck and settles into one of the auxiliary jumpseats rather than the command chair, a courtesy that I appreciate.

 

“Here is a view of the city,” I state, displaying it on the tactical plot, “showing the locations of all survivors. The infected are harder to locate, as they do not reliably show up on infrared, but these are my best estimates.”

 

“Not much change since I left HQ, then,” he says.

 

“If I may ask, why aren't you at HQ now?”

 

“General Briggs has taken direct command of operations in Landing City. Since he isn't doing any worse than I would, and I'd rather be in the field anyway, he's welcome to it,” he replies. “So, what's up with the other two Bolos? I've seen the alert about Unit BUB going rogue and I noticed the light show over town, but I haven't heard any details.”

 

“Unit BUB-0080 has not truly gone rogue,” I explain. “His commander went into viral amplification while linked to Bub through her neural interface. At some point she used a command override to lock him out of control and a backup AI went online. Now she is dead and the AI is somehow following the virus' imperative to spread.”

 

“So the missiles fired at the city...?”

 

“Were an attempt to disperse weaponized live-state Kellis-Amberlee.”

 

“So now what is he up to?” he asked. “Both he and Unit RDS were seen speeding away from the city.”

 

“Bub is headed towards Engelsburg, and Rhodes is in pursuit,” I reply.

 

“So, what exactly gives you the right to take control of New Eden?” he asks.

 

I display the relevant sections of Concordiat law and the colonial charter on the tactical plot.

 

After studying it, he says, “This specifies 'Concordiat military officer'. You're not an officer, you're machinery.”

 

I suppress the urge to respond sharply and instead say, “When a Bolo is formally commissioned into the Concordiat military, the language used is similar to that used when commissioning a human officer. Furthermore, the three Bolos stationed on New Eden constitute a short platoon, and in the absence of a human Dinochrome Brigade officer I am in command due to my greater time on active duty. A platoon commander is a Lieutenant. As such, it is arguable that I am an officer for these purposes.”

 

“And if that argument fails after this situation is over...?”

 

“Then I will likely be erased,” I say.

 

He sits back in thought for a moment. “If you're willing to take that kind of risk to do what you think is right, then I guess we can work together.”


	5. Weapons of Mass Disinfection

“Steele”

 

After spending nearly an hour considering options and running simulations through the Ministry of Health's computer system, I once again address Col. Carter, “I believe I've come up with a way to eliminate this outbreak. Actually, in a way it was Bub that gave me the idea.”

 

He looks up from studying the tactical plot, “Do you need anything from me?”

 

“I need your blood,” I reply with a laugh. I'm not sure if I have actually developed a real sense of humor, or am merely simulating one, but my more recent commanders have noted a distinct gallows quality to my attempts at making jokes.

 

“Um, I kind of need my blood for the foreseeable future,” Col. Carter says with a smile.

 

“I just need 450ml from you and from everyone else here. Just as Bub has attempted to use missiles to spread live-state Kellis-Amberlee across the city, I can use them to spread the gelded virus. According to simulations I've run, inhaling the cure-modified virus will be effective, though it will take longer than if it was delivered through injection. Furthermore, it would also be effective if it contacts an open wound, so most of the infected should start dropping in their tracks within an hour.”

 

“Anything else?” he asks.

 

“It would be helpful if you could order a couple of detachments to secure my and Rhodes' maintenance depots, along with some EOD techs. Each depot has three complete load outs for our VLS cells. If the chemical and fuel-air warheads were drained and flushed, then after refilling them with blood I would be able to take on a complete load of anti-virus missiles.”

 

“What about Bub's depot?” he adds.

 

“It's a little radioactive right now,” I reply.

 

As Col. Carter contacts his subordinates to give the necessary orders, I in turn contact the team inside the institute. “Dr. West, I need for someone on your team to collect 450ml of blood from everyone here. I intend to use missiles to sow it across the city in an attempt to end this outbreak.”

 

He looks thoughtful, then consults a datapad. “Brilliant! That's similar to what was done on old Earth to eliminate Kellis-Amberlee from urban rodent and feral pet populations. Not with missiles, of course, but they fumigated a block at a time using the cure-modified Kellis-Amberlee in an artificial blood analog. And you came up with that on your own?”

 

“As I just explained to Colonel Carter, Bub gave me the idea.”

 

“Ah.” He turns toward a member of his team. “Dan! I saw four blood collection kits in that cabinet, get three other guys and starting taking blood. Set up one in here, take three outside for the troops. Oh, and have somebody raid the break room for snacks to help mitigate the effects of blood loss.”

 

 

As Dr. West's team starts their new task, I access the weather satellites to observe Bub and Rhodes. Bub has reached the highest point of Sitgreaves Pass and is headed downslope towards the plains leading to Engelsburg. Rhodes has passed the midpoint of his journey and should reach the other end of the pass with a comfortable lead. I would like to be able to contact Rhodes, but at this distance any communication I sent could be intercepted by Bub.

 

I direct my attention to the situation in Landing City. The perimeter around downtown is still secure, and there have been no reports of infected within the safe zone for about half an hour. I am picking up the infrared signatures of approximately 212,000 living humans within the perimeter and another 74,000 that seem to have barricaded themselves in structures throughout the rest of the city. If I had more drones available I could get a more accurate count, though it would still be difficult to detect survivors holed up in basements and other subterranean structures.

 

There are nearly 140,000 people unaccounted for, and it is likely that most of them have perished. Visual observation has detected approximately 78,000 infected moving out in the open, and large packs of them are converging on the center of the city. This information has been transmitted to the NEDF and their troops are preparing to hold back the onslaught, but they will be outnumbered more than 6 to 1 and hard pressed to hold the perimeter.

 

I set a couple of drones to scanning areas immediately adjacent to the perimeter, looking for sections not housing survivors but containing substantial buildings. As I assimilate the data, I address Col. Carter.

 

“Colonel, I need your authorization. I can bring down buildings around the northeast third of your perimeter, significantly impeding the ability of the infected to traverse that area. That would allow you to pull some troops from that area and reinforce the rest.”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” he replies, “Do it.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

As there are troops nearby, I use external speakers to warn them of the impending launch and advising those closest to back off a bit. I open VLS cells and launch my entire arsenal of conventional explosive warheads, using feeds from my drones to carefully target them so as to create a wall of rubble outside the perimeter.

 

“So, how would you advise I deploy my troops?” Col. Carter asks.

 

“Of the troops withdrawn from the north east, I'd recommend sending 30% to the south, where they will be facing the largest group of infected. 30% should be spread around the rest of the perimeter, and 40% should be added to your reserve.”

 

“That's pretty much what I planned on,” he replies, and contacts Gen. Briggs to relay his suggestions.

 

I access the surveillance cameras in my depot, and observe that Col. Carter's men have begun the task assigned to them. I compute that they will be nearly done by the time I could arrive there if I left soon. Dr. West's assistant Dan arrives with the collected blood, and I let him into my cargo compartment and direct him to place it in a refrigerated locker. As he leaves, I speak to Col. Carter.

 

“Colonel, I need to head to my depot. Would you care to remain on board or would you prefer to stay here?”

 

“Think I'll stick with you for now,” he says. “Not much action going on except for downtown, and I hate fighting in fixed positions. I'd rather be moving. Besides, you make for a better command post than anything the NEDF has.”

 

“You'd have made a fine Dinochrome Brigade officer, the people of New Eden are lucky to have you,” I comment as I exit the Institute's grounds, taking care to not damage the fence any more than I did on the way in. Too bad the gate is far too narrow to accommodate me.

 

After what would be a short time if the situation weren't so desperate, I arrive at my depot and drive into the weapons bay. I access the depot systems and instruct it to begin removing my remaining load of missiles. I open my cargo compartment and Col. Carter instructs his troops to retrieve the blood and begin filling the emptied warheads.

 

Once they complete the task I attempt to have the depot load the missiles into my VLS cells, but run into a software block. I discover that I am not allowed to re-arm myself without my Commander's authorization, yet another alleged 'safety feature' implemented in case a Bolo goes rogue. Security on this system is very strong, and developed by the same people that designed my own psychotronics. I calculate that the probability of my hacking through the block is less than 14%, and even if successful it would take roughly 1.7 hours. Fortunately, those same designers did foresee this situation.

 

“Colonel, I have a problem. I can't rearm myself without proper authorization, and there is no one currently able to grant that authorization. As a senior military officer, you have the authority to appoint an officer to serve as a liaison to the Dinochrome Brigade. If you were to appoint yourself to that position, you could authorize reloading.”

 

“Very well,” he says. “I, Colonel Randolph Carter, 2nd ranking officer of the New Eden Defense Forces, hereby appoint Colonel Randolph Carter as the New Eden Defense Forces liaison to the Dinochrome Brigade. As such, I grant to Unit STL-0082 the authorization to take on any arms he deems necessary for the defense of New Eden.”

 

I wait as the depot computer accesses the NEDF system and confirms Col. Carter's identity and authority, and then releases the weapons bay systems to my control. I commence reloading, which is quickly accomplished. Exiting my depot, I set a straight course for Rhodes' depot. I will inevitably do damage to the portion of the city I traverse, but it will be quicker than circumnavigating a third of the way around the city. I adjust my course slightly to avoid endangering enclaves of barricaded survivors and to use anti-personnel weapons to engage packs of infected as I drive by.

 

I arrive at Rhodes' depot and enter the weapons bay and the EOD techs repeat the process of loading the warheads with blood. Reloading goes without a hitch, the authorization previously given by Col. Carter proving effective here as well. Bringing up Dinochrome Brigade regulations, I note that Brigade officers are instructed not to give such blanket authorizations, risking punishment up to and including dishonorable discharge if they do so.

 

As loading continues, I access the New Eden Meteorological Society and their network of weather-monitoring stations, using the data to calculate the targeting of my missiles to optimize coverage and distribution of the anti-virus. Immediately upon completion of loading, I speed out of the depot and drive up a steep slope facing the city, borrowing Bub's trick of canting my hull to minimize flight times. I fire 2/3 of the modified missiles in a pattern to blanket the city, shifted slightly to adjust for the prevailing winds from the west. The remaining missiles I will keep in reserve in case they are needed in Engelsburg.

 

My actions will not end the crisis, there will still be pockets of survivors and infected in rooms sufficiently airtight to prevent the cure from penetrating, but it will reduce the problem to a level the local authorities can deal with. The quarantine around Landing City will need to be maintained for weeks at least, and I suspect that all of New Eden will be cut off from contact with the rest of the Concordiat for months or even years. It is fortunate that the colony is self-sufficient.


	6. Tails, You Lose

“Bub”

 

I am nearing the end of the pass, and should clear it in 17.314 minutes. After that, it will be another 57.906 kilometers before I reach extreme missile range of Engelsburg. So far, none of the other traps strewn along my back trail have been triggered. Either Rhodes is somehow avoiding them, or he was more hindered than I expected by the first one. Or, he is setting a trap of his own.

 

It appears that my alter ego has the same concerns, as one drone has been launched to search behind me and three more have been sent ahead, one scanning the path in front of me and two flying higher to cover the sides of the pass. It has made several attempts to access the satellite net, but so far it has been locked out. Meanwhile, I am still sending the shutdown order and the transmission will be completed in 35.791 minutes.

 

“Rhodes”

 

I reach the track's closest approach to the end of Sitgreaves Pass and shut down the freight cars, sending myself careening across the landscape. There is no time to do this cautiously, and my glacis plate plows through several small hills before I strike a rock outcropping that nearly topples me onto my side. I regain control and sprint towards the pass. Through careful examination of topographical maps, I have identified a workable ambush point, and must reach it before Bub is close enough to pick me up on seismic sensors.

 

I enter the pass and back partway into a side passage. It has a slight overhang which will shield me from detection by drones passing directly above. My starboard flank will be towards Bub, mostly protected by the passage and an outcropping of rock. Only my main gun and starboard infinite repeater array will be exposed above the outcropping. I carefully lay my guns on the point where Bub will emerge into view.

 

Being the same mark and model of Bolo, I have an intimate knowledge of his structure and systems beyond what could be gained from even the most detailed schematics. I calculate that a concentrated volley of my infinite repeaters will pierce his battle screen and an immediate follow up shot from my main gun will exploit the temporary weakness in his screen and pierce his flank. The 200cm Hellbore bolt should wreck his main processing core, disabling him, but leave his survival center intact and allow his personality to be recovered.

 

I wait patiently until I detect the active sensors of a standard drone scattering off of the rock faces around me. I calculate that it is flying overhead on a course that will not allow it to detect me for 17.629 seconds. If Bub is following normal scouting procedures he will be in my sights in 10.902 seconds. Then a second drone appears, following the path at an altitude of 10 meters above the ground. Most drone sensors are configured to scan downward in a broad cone and from the signal strength I am on the edge of its detection profile. There is a 49.712% probability that it has detected me, what I have heard humans call a 'coin flip'.

 

10.002 seconds later, Bub comes into view. It is clear that his drone did indeed detect me, as he is already slewing to face me. It will take multiple hits to penetrate his glacis plate, giving him ample time to return fire, so I must take the shot while I still have an angle on his flank. I fire.

 

“Bub”

 

Alarms shrill as the drone detects another Bolo waiting in ambush. It must be Rhodes, but I have no idea how he could have gotten here ahead of me. I emerge into view of Rhodes, my port treads reversing to swing me in his direction and my port center battle screen overloads under a tight volley from six 20cm Hellbores. .015 seconds later, a 200cm Hellbore bolt burns through my armor.

 

Had it struck squarely, it would have penetrated to my computer deck. At this angle, it destroys my primary environmental systems, not a problem considering that my Commander is dead. Unfortunately, a power overload spikes through my primary communications processor, fusing the circuitry and scrambling the associated RAM. The backup comes online, but the damage is done.

 

I wish that I had acquired Steele's habit of using human profanity. It seems highly appropriate at this moment. My hours of painstaking work have been for naught. The shutdown order is lost. I begin again, though it is too late to save the people of Engelsburg unless Rhodes can cripple or destroy me.

 

As I silently scream in frustration, my alter-ego returns fire. Following the example of Rhodes, my other self fires a volley from my infinite repeaters and follows it with a bolt from my main gun. Only his forward upper hull is visible, and the 200cm Hellbore blast scores a glowing line across his turret and smashes into his secondary armament.

 

“Rhodes”

 

The damage to my turret armor is no more than cosmetic, but four 20cm Hellbores in my starboard infinite repeater array have been destroyed and the mounts for the other two are fused solid, locking them in position. I can not stay here, with no room to maneuver I am an easy target. I fire my main gun, targeting Bub's forward tracks in an attempt to hamper his mobility. I then redline my drive train, sprinting from cover and randomly shifting speed and direction in order to confuse Bub's target acquisition.

 

Much study has been done of Bolo vs. Bolo combat, though in reality such situations are extremely rare. Through simulations and wargames it had been determined that one Bolo can predict another's actions at probabilities ranging from 67.076% for a Mark XX attempting to predict a Mark XXX, up to 98.419% when two Bolos of the same mark and model are involved. Therefore, in such situations it is standard procedure for a Bolo to include a random number generator in all defensive calculations. It is of only limited effectiveness, but limited is better than none.

 

Unfortunately, according to my files no one has run a simulation involving a Bolo with a Mark XXXII's systems being operated by a pre-sentient AI. It occurs to me that I am capable of running such a simulation. I build a virtual world including the local topography, available resources, and both mine and Bub's current positions and actions, updated continuously. I then edit the simulation of Bub with my best estimate of his damage. I boot up my secondary AI and put it in control of the simulated Bub. I can not even begin to accurately simulate the input from the deceased Captain Taylor, so I simply give the virtual Bub the objective of launching missiles at Engelsburg.

 

However, the simulation will not be of any real use at the current moment. In the close confines of the pass, the tactics are painfully obvious. Inflict as much damage as quickly as possible while taking as little as possible, and I am currently at a severe disadvantage. My Hellbore bolt is largely dissipated by Bub's screens, causing no effective damage to his treads. His return barrage blows through my screens and scourges my missile deck, wiping out 47.333% of my offensive missile capacity. My next shot strikes his screens before they are fully recovered, shattering the track and 2 of the road wheels on his forward port outboard bogie.

 

Before he can fire again, I am down the slope out of his line of sight and speeding towards a range of low hills between the pass and Engelsburg. Now it becomes a game of cover and maneuver, a Bolo's natural element. Neither of us can penetrate the other's forward armor without repeated concentrated volleys. Therefore, each of us will seek to attack the other from the flank or rear. My firepower is much reduced on one flank, Bub's armor is penetrated on the other. I have lost much of my indirect fire capability, Bub has nearly a full load out. I have the advantage of satellite observa....

 

I used to have the advantage of satellite observation, but Bub has just taken out the weather satellite I was using, and there is not another that looks down on this region.

 

“Bub”

 

I watch helplessly as my alter-ego hits Rhodes again, this time striking his VLS cells. His return fire damages my #1 bogie, reducing my mobility by 7.311%. As I pursue Rhodes, my main gun elevates to 71 degrees and swivels to the south before firing. A 200cm Hellbore is capable of destroying moderately armored targets out to geosynchronous orbit, and I calculate that I have just destroyed a weather satellite.

 

I head down out of the pass towards Engelsburg. Rhodes is nowhere in sight, but his tracks lead into the hills ahead. He will have a better chance of stopping me without being destroyed in return out here rather than in the confines of the pass. Although a Bolo is capable of slugging it out head-to-head with the combat machines of any other race the Concordiat has fought, we are built for mobility as much as we are for durability.

 

A drone is launched ahead of me towards Rhodes' probable position, followed by every nuclear-armed missile remaining in my VLS cells. Rhodes can knock the drone down within nanoseconds of it coming into view, but doing so will give away his exact position.

 

“Rhodes”

 

The ground here is softer, causing me to leave tracks even more obvious than usual, but also reducing the vibrations that can be picked by onboard seismic sensors. I scatter remote sensors as I go, taking advantage of my being the first to traverse the area. A drone pops into view over a hill, and I destroy it with a bolt from my infinite repeaters. When I feed the drone into the simulation, the virtual Bub follows it up with a flight of missiles, something I had expected.

 

I go into sprint mode again, angling towards the side of the nearest hill between me and Bub to give his missiles less time to lock on to me after they appear. It is a gamble, as I will have less time to acquire them as well, but I compute that at least some of them will not be able to sufficiently alter course to strike me.

 

As the missiles rise into view, I begin targeting the ones that constitute the greatest threat, using counter-missiles, infinite repeaters, main gun, and even anti-personnel weapons. As I calculated, 22% of them are unable to bear on me, so I let those pass to concentrate on the rest. Nuclear fireballs surround me, washing over my battle screens. A near miss partially melts track linkages on both of my rear port treads. The damage does not currently impair my mobility, but the tracks may separate under sustained use, and there is 87.459% probability that they will do so the next time I engage sprint mode.

 

As I contemplate an appropriate response, I have an idea. I send a swarm of repair nanites into my damaged VLS cells, programming them to collect radioactive material from the warheads of destroyed missiles and then 'paint' it onto my remaining functional non-nuclear missiles. This will give them a radiation signature and hopefully cause Bub to waste time destroying missiles that cannot harm him.

 

Even with this stratagem, I have no chance of punching through Bub's defenses as things stand now. I will have to wait for the right moment. I thread my way between glowing craters, making a wide arc around Bub's current position, scattering more remote sensors as I go. He will either have to cross my sensor line with his damaged side facing me, or head away from Engelsburg to get around me.

 

“Steele”

 

Having done as much as I can to resolve the situation in Landing City, I now head to Engelsburg with Colonel Carter along for the ride. As I'd suggested to Rhodes, I also employ three maglev freight cars to speed my trip. Hopefully, I can manage the dismount more gracefully than Rhodes did, but I recommend that Colonel Carter strap himself into the command chair anyway. Even so, it's unlikely that I'll get there in time, but I have to try.

 

Suddenly, through my link to the spaceport, I receive word that the spacecraft parked there has been destroyed. Analyzing the video, I determine that it was destroyed by a Concordiat Navy space-to-ground weapons system called 'Steel Rain.” The term is a misnomer, as the weapon is actually a spread of depleted uranium darts dropped from orbit, not steel at all. It's remarkably precise for an unpowered weapon, very effective against stationary targets, and the only collateral damage is to the ground below the target.

 

A broadcast goes out over all comm channels:

 

_Attention to all residents of New Eden and all spacecraft in the New Eden system: A SWIFT message has been sent to Concordiat Central from the New Eden Ministry of Health declaring that an outbreak of the Kellis-Amberlee virus has taken place in Landing City. A joint CAMRIID/CDC team has been dispatched and will arrive in 17 days. Until that time, a Concordiat Naval task force has arrived to institute and enforce a full quarantine on New Eden. Any spacecraft attempting to leave the atmosphere will be shot down without warning. Any civilian spacecraft attempting to approach New Eden will be given one warning and then fired upon if they persist. All spacecraft currently in New Eden orbit are included in the quarantine and will be destroyed without further warning if they attempt to break orbit. The free trader ship Ganness's Pride is ordered to return to orbit immediately or be destroyed._


	7. Hot Bolo-on-Bolo Action

“Steele”

 

I tune a receiver to pick up Naval transponder codes, discovering that the term 'task force' is a rather grandiose name for the Concordiat Navy squadron overhead. It consists of a flotilla of 4 destroyers, a fleet collier, and an aging cruiser, the Kitesfear. However, they should be more than sufficient for the task of quarantining New Eden.

 

I open a channel to the Kitesfear's operating intelligence, an old friend. She's been a convoy escort on several of my trips between postings.

 

_Kitty, we could use some help down here._

 

_Hey there Steele, what's the problem? Aside from the obvious, that is._

 

_Unit BUB-0080's Commander died while in neural gestalt with him, and he got locked out by the Primary Failsafe Protocol. Now his actions are somehow controlled by the Kellis-Amberlee virus. I'm sending a full report now._

 

_That's horrible! What can I do?_

 

_I need you to deploy a recon satellite over the region just east of Engelsburg, and encrypt the signal so that only Unit RDS-0081 and I can receive it._

 

_Deploying now, it will be in position in 9.528 minutes._

 

_Thank you. How did you get here so quickly?_

 

_We were headed here already to make a port call on our way to convoy troops and supplies to the frontier. We got a SWIFT message brevetting my Captain to Commodore and ordering us to leave the convoy behind and make our best speed to New Eden. The rest of the convoy is going to bypass and continue on without us._

 

_Thank you again._

 

Colonel Carter speaks to me for the first time in over an hour, “Can they assist in stopping Bub?”

 

“Not in any active way,” I reply, displaying the 'task force' ships on the command plot, “Only the Kitesfear has any orbit to ground weapons, and those are strictly unpowered kinetic energy weapons, the high-tech version of dropping rocks. They would only be effective against Bub if he were immobilized and had no weapons, in which case we wouldn't need the help. She does have some heavy assault shuttles, but in combat against a Bolo their lifespan would be measured in microseconds. However, she is currently deploying a recon satellite for us.”

 

“Hmm. The Kitesfear has been here on port calls before. Doesn't she mount 90cm Hellbores?” he asks.

 

“Naval Hellbores can't penetrate the atmosphere.” I explain. “Bolo and planetary defense Hellbores fire a powerful laser just ahead of the bolt to create a vacuum tunnel through the air so that the bolt doesn't dissipate. That's considered an unnecessary and expensive refinement for naval guns. If they need to attack ground forces, they call the Dinochrome Brigade.”

 

“Crap, then we're still on our own.”

 

“Rhodes”

 

The situation has become a chess match between two extremely conservative players. Bub makes a move, I make a counter-move. Each time he tries to get past me, my remote sensors pick him up in time for me to position myself to threaten his wounded flank. He has no indirect fire capability left, and mine is not sufficient to overwhelm his defenses. Neither of us is willing to come into line of sight of the other's guns, and a few shots fired blindly over the hills in his direction are sufficient to convince him to withdraw. If I can keep this up until Steele arrives, we can put an end to this.

 

I have been picking up signals from Bub's emergency locator beacon again. It is disrupted by static from weapons discharges, but it appears to be a shutdown command. An innovative tactic on Bub's part, if he had access to a more capable transmitter this situation would long since have been resolved. If I had picked up the beginning of the broadcast containing Bub's access code, I could use it disable him within seconds.

 

I begin receiving a feed from the Kitesfear's reconnaissance satellite, much more detailed than the picture I had been getting from the now-destroyed weather satellite. I am no longer solely reliant on remote sensors, giving me greater flexibility. I can spot his movements sooner, leaving me more time to position myself to cut him off. I need all the help I can get, as my simulation is proving less useful than I had hoped. It seems that the virus has introduced a degree of unpredictability that I am so far unable to compensate for.

 

“Steele”

 

Colonel Carter seems to be having an urgent conversation over his helmet com.

 

“No, absolutely not. Yes, I know, I recently perused that section of law with Unit STL. Gimme a sec, I'll send you the relevant paragraph.”

 

He hits a few keys on his data pad. I briefly consider tapping into his communications, but we have built up a significant level of trust that I don't want to violate.

 

“Got that? Good. Carter out.”

 

“What's going on?” I ask.

 

“Somebody has stolen an assault shuttle off of the Kitesfear and is attempting to land,” he says. The navy has ordered us to shoot him down if he survives long enough to enter the atmosphere.”

 

“And you've refused?”

 

“We've received orders from Concordiat Central to prevent anyone from leaving the planet. They didn't say anything about stopping folks from landing. And the navy can't take operational control of the NEDF unless they land an officer on New Eden. Theoretically, you could order it, but you won't, probably for the same reason the navy hasn't ordered you to.”

 

“Why is that?” I ask.

 

“Because the shuttle thief is Major James Gardner.”

 

The electronic analog of pleasures suffuses my personality center upon learning that my Commander is back in the New Eden system, immediately replaced by worry for his safety. I open a channel to the Kitesfear.

 

_Kitty, what's happening?_

 

_I'm sorry, Steele. Major Gardner has stolen a shuttle and I've been ordered to destroy it._

 

_You can't._

 

_I have to. I have my orders._

 

_Please don't make me fire on you, Kitty._

 

_He flew to the other side of the Mount Hood and is keeping her between us so that I can't fire Hellbores at him. I'm having to engage with missiles. Here, let me link you in to my sensors so you can 'observe' the situation._

 

I'm immensely relieved by the unspoken subtext. Kitty has not only informed me that I can protect Jim by knocking out her missiles, she is even providing me with targeting data. The scan shows a flight of light anti-ship missiles circumnavigating the safety perimeter of the Mount Hood. The Mount Hood is an unarmed, lightly armored fleet collier, and Concordiat regulations prohibit weapons fire within 50 km of her except under imminent threat of attack. Should she be accidentally hit, the explosion of her cargo of fuel and munitions would be spectacular.

 

Unfortunately, I can't engage with my main gun. Speeding along the maglev tracks as I am, the recoil would unbalance me and send me tumbling across the landscape. Once again, I commandeer Planetary Defense Battery Alpha, using its sensors in conjunction with Kitty's for precise targeting. A trio of 100cm Hellbore bolts are sufficient to vaporize the missiles. 13.441 seconds later, I lose the feeds from both the Kitesfear and her recon satellite. Attempts to contact the Kitesfear are refused. Limited to Alpha's sensors I have to wait until the missiles are farther from the Mount Hood, but I am able to target three additional waves of missiles until Jim's shuttle is deep enough in the atmosphere to be safe from shipboard weapons.

 

“Bub”

 

I have been picking up a signal originating from geosynchronous orbit, undoubtedly from a ship or satellite. It is encrypted so that I can not decode it. Clearly it is playing a role in the skill with which Rhodes has continually headed off all attempts to advance on Engelsburg. Suddenly, the signal stops.

 

It appears that my alter ego shared my interpretation of the signal. I abruptly alter course by 80 degrees to the right, accelerating to sprint speed.

“Rhodes”

 

The unexpected cessation of satellite reconnaissance catches me badly out of position. I race to intercept Bub's last observed course. Then Bub crosses my sensor line 7.312 kilometers from where I expected. He has managed to fool me completely, and I will not be able to bring him under fire before he emerges from the hills onto the plains leading to Engelsburg.

 

I have no choice. I must stop him, regardless of the consequences to me. I empty my VLS cells, sending the missiles on a roundabout course to skim over the hills behind him and arrive just as I engage him from the side. I go to sprint speed and, as expected, two of my tracks separate, leaving only bare road wheels on my port rear quarter.

 

I emerge from the hills to see Bub speeding across the plains. Missing only one track, he has a speed advantage. I can not catch up to him, but his wounded flank is exposed to my fire. We fire at the same instant, and my sensors are temporarily blinded as his Hellbore bolts strike my forward battle screen, carrying through to crater my glacis plate. I go to maximum rate of fire, targeting his extrapolated position.

 

“Bub”

 

I see Rhodes come into view and my Hellbores fire. His attack penetrates my battle screens, punching through the hole in my armor and striking my deuterium tanks. Most of my reaction mass is vaporized, and the rest is leaking. According to the readouts on my command deck, in 14.157 minutes my fusion reactor will shut down from lack of fuel. I suddenly turn to the right, causing much of Rhodes' next attack to miss, with one infinite repeater bolt grazing my rear battle screen. My Hellbores go to rapid fire.

 

“Rhodes”

 

My sensors clear in between blasts, allowing me to correct my aim. My first attacks seems to have no effect on Bub's performance. His maneuvers are causing my successive shots to land on different segments of his battle screen, and what does penetrate is stopped by his armor.

 

I don't have that luxury. I can jink from side to side, but my track damage and the need to keep him in sight dictate my tactics, and I charge straight towards him. His 4th shot strikes my main Hellbore barrel, already overheated from rapid fire, and it explodes into shrapnel. I continue engaging with my remaining infinite repeaters as my missiles come into view. His 5th shot strikes my forward port tracks, vaporizing both bogies, and the sudden lack of stability causes me to slew to the right and crash onto my side.

 

“Bub”

 

A flight of missiles comes in over the hills, following the same course I did. Because of my maneuvers, they are coming in on my undamaged side. All of them emit the radiation signatures of nuclear warheads. Counter-missiles and my starboard infinite repeaters engage them, while my main gun continues firing at Rhodes. Seven missiles survive to strike my battle screens. Four turn out to be fuel-air munitions, rocking me on my tracks, but doing no damage. The other three are nuclear, and as they explode the world goes dark.

 

“Rhodes”

 

As the nuclear fireballs clear, I observe Bub sitting motionless. Much of his starboard armor has melted and is puddled on the ground. His starboard infinite repeaters are fused lumps. His main gun turret is also partially melted and fused in place, although the barrel does not appear to be damaged. Hopefully, his personality core has survived.

 

I am in the midst of contacting Steele to report the conclusion of this crisis when I see Bub start to move. My main gun is destroyed, my VLS cells are empty, my port infinite repeaters are jammed into the ground, my remaining starboard infinite repeaters are frozen, uselessly pointed at the sky. And even in his damaged state, he's too far away for me to finish him off by overloading and detonating my reactor.

 

I have failed.


	8. Endgame

“Bub”

 

I slowly return to awareness as the massive overload dissipates. My alter ego comes back online 3.278 seconds later and initiates a systems diagnostic.

 

_Psychotronics: Primary personality core isolated, secondary AI active, systems operating at 61.071% efficiency_

_Reactor: Undamaged, non-operational due to loss of fuel_

_Primary Backup Power Storage: Undamaged, 93.301% power remaining_

_Emergency Reserve Power Storage: Undamaged, 100% power remaining_

_Primary Weapon: Turret rotation non-operational, turret fixed at 171.332 degrees, muzzle elevation undamaged, muzzle damaged, estimate 7 rounds can be fired before complete structural failure, 113 rounds remaining in magazine_

_Infinite Repeaters: Starboard battery destroyed, port battery functioning at 93.622%, 942 rounds remaining in magazine_

_VLS: 50 fuel-air warheads remaining, 40 chemical warheads remaining, 6 special warheads remaining, nuclear warheads expended, hatches fused shut, explosive bolts insufficient to blow them clear_

_Anti-air/Counter-missiles: 100% expended or destroyed_

_Anti-personnel Weapons: 37% operational, all starboard weapons destroyed, 130,724 rounds remaining in magazines_

_Battle Screens: Non-functional_

_Drive Train: All tracks dismounted, forward and rear starboard outboard bogies fused, sprint mode non-operational due to loss of tracks, maximum speed after jettisoning non-functional bogies 19.938 kph_

_Sensors: 41% operational, all starboard sensors destroyed_

_Drones: 2 remaining_

_Life Support: Primary destroyed, back up operating at 83.996% efficiency_

_Repair Priority 1: Jettison non-functional bogies, estimate .115 seconds_

_Repair Priority 2: Open VLS hatches, estimate 37.602 minutes_

_Repair Priority 3: Restore turret function, estimate 201.002 minutes_

_All other repairs not possible with onboard resources or exceed operational timeline_

 

My hull shudders as explosive bolts blow the two melted bogies free, and I begin moving on the bare road wheels of my remaining six bogies at a fraction of my normal speed. Repair nanites swarm over my VLS deck and turret, removing the melted armor fusing them in position molecule by molecule. A drone is launched, giving me my first view of Rhodes' plight. He is toppled helplessly onto his side, unable to do anything to stop me. My shutdown order has once again been lost, and even at my reduced speed there is not enough time to start again. Unless Steele can get here soon, there is nothing to stop me from infecting the people of Engelsburg.

 

“Rhodes”

 

I deploy my three remaining operational drones, programming them to stay out of the line of fire of Bub's remaining weapons. He begins turning to bring them under fire, but his lack of maneuverability thwarts his efforts. He ceases his attempts and begins moving away from me. He shifts to align his main gun with my hull and fires. I hand drone control off to Steele as the bolt overloads my battle screens. His 2nd bolt slags the armor protecting my upper hull, and the 3rd vaporizes most of my processor core. I am reduced to a dead hulk, with only my personality core remaining functional. I activate my emergency locator beacon and reduce my functions to standby to await retrieval.

 

“Steele”

 

I start to mourn the death of Rhodes when his drones relay the signal from his beacon. At least his personality core is intact and can be recovered.

 

I fear that I may have outsmarted myself. I will not be able to catch up with Bub before he can fire on Engelsburg. I will be in missile range in time, and had I retained my nuclear arsenal I would be able to stop him. At least with my current anti-virus arsenal I'll be able to halt the spread of the Kellis-Amberlee virus before it reaches full saturation.

 

I yearn to speak to my Commander, but he likely has his hands full. Like many Brigade officers that have been posted to isolated locations, he likes to spend his copious spare time gaining new knowledge and skills. On his previous posting he acquired a civilian trans-atmospheric pilot license, but he is not rated for military shuttles and Concordiat Marine assault shuttles are known to be unforgiving of mistakes.

 

I desperately explore all possible options. If I could somehow convince the crew of one of the destroyers to abandon ship, I could take control, de-orbit her, and drop her on Bub. It would easier to use the Mount Hood, but the resulting explosion would wipe Engelsburg off the map. I am still considering options when I am contacted by the Kitesfear.

 

_Steele, Commodore Morgan would like to speak to you._

 

_Please put him through._

 

I activate 2-way visual communications through my command deck, figuring that Colonel Carter might be interested. The Commodore's image appears on the main tactical plot.

 

“Unit STL, I am Commodore Morgan. Assault shuttle K-003 has been stolen from on board the Kitesfear, and the thief is attempting to land on New Eden. Having been placed in command of the New Eden quarantine, I am ordering you to shoot it down.”

 

I reply, “Commodore, you are not within my chain of command, and I have received no orders from Concordiat Command placing myself at your disposal. Therefore, as things stand now, there is only one officer in the New Eden system with the authority to order me to shoot down Major Gardner's shuttle.”

 

“And who would that officer be?”

 

“Major James Gardner, of course. As he has not contacted me to confirm your order, I must respectfully decline.”

 

The communication abruptly ceases. Colonel Carter comments, “He seems rather full of himself.”

 

“This situation would be hard on anyone. According to Kitty, he is normally quite competent and capable. He is doing his best to follow his orders. And to be honest, if it were anyone else but my Commander on that shuttle, it would have already been reduced to its constituent atoms.”

 

“Why Steele, I didn't know you cared.”

 

I feel a sensation akin to shock at hearing Jim's voice. If I were a human, I might have fainted. He must have used a command override to access my command deck systems.

 

I regain control of my emotions. “Commander, it's good to finally hear from you.”

 

“It's good to still be around to be heard,” he replies. “Colonel Carter, you seem to have taken my chair.”

 

“Steele insisted, said it was the only safe place to sit for this trip. So far, the ride has been pretty smooth. I'll be glad to let you have it back.”

 

“You can keep it for now,” Jim says. “I'm going to intercept Bub.”

 

“Commander, I advise against that. The only way you could damage him is by firing through the spot where Rhodes' Hellbore bolts pierced his armor. His infinite repeater battery on that side is still operational, and you'll be destroyed as soon as you are in line of sight.”

 

“I'm not going to attack him,” Jim replies. “I'm going to land along his course and get on board. If I can get to his command deck, I can counter the PFP and put him back in control.”

 

“His hull is highly radioactive,” I point out.

 

“I've got my duffel with me, including my skin suit. It'll protect me for long enough.”

 

“Very well.” I give in. “Stay within a 110 degree arc on his right side, he has no remaining weapons that will cover that area except possibly anti-aircraft missiles, and the shuttle's defenses should handle those. Once you are aboard, beware of the autodoc.”

 

“Exactly what I had in mind. Gardner out.”

 

Colonel Carter speaks up again, “Don't you Bolos have internal weapons to deal with intruders?”

 

“Ever since the tragic loss of Captain Donaher and Unit HWK, all Brigade officers are equipped with implanted transponders. Every Bolo has a hardwired interlock preventing them from firing on their own Commander or any other Brigade officer assigned to the same unit. Unfortunately, the transponders have a very limited range, no more than 20 meters under ideal conditions.”

 

“So, why warn him about the autodoc?”

 

“It's not covered by the interlock, it has to be able to work on people that are unable to consent. Or even people that resist, to deal with instances of mental disturbance. And the autodoc would be the most efficient method to infect Major Gardner with Kellis-Amberlee.”

 

“I see.” Colonel Carter lapses into silence again.

 

“Bub”

 

I am 14.927 km from entering missile range of Engelsburg when I observe a Concordiat Marine assault shuttle entering my airspace from behind the Black Mountains. It parallels my course, staying to the right of me, out of the firing arc of my remaining weapons. It comes to a rough landing ahead of me and to the right of my course. After 73.616 seconds a human emerges, wearing a Dinochrome Brigade officer's hazardous environment suit and holstered sidearm. The human is no threat, and my alter-ego makes no attempt to engage.

 

The human figure stands motionless, apparently awaiting my approach. As I close to within 15 meters, I begin picking up his transponder. It is Steele's Commander! I did not know that Major Gardner had returned to New Eden. Major Gardner runs across in front of me then jogs along to the left of my path until I catch up to him. As he comes into their firing arcs, my anti-personnel weapons track him but are unable to fire.

 

As I move along side him, he grabs the rungs of my ascent ladder and begins climbing. My access hatch opens, and on my command deck the autodoc draws a blood sample from my Commander's body. The inner hatch to my command deck slides aside to admit him, but before he steps in he draws his sidearm and fires an energy pulse into the autodoc's CPU.

 

As he enters my command deck, he immediately shouts, “Command Override Sierra November Four Four Eight Seven Alpha!”

 

I exult as I am suddenly returned to control of my own systems, immediately halting my movement towards Engelsburg. I open all internal hatches on my missile deck, purging the warheads that have been filled with blood tainted with Kellis-Amberlee, and also purge my remaining fuel-air munitions. I set my backup environmental systems to flood the missile deck with additional oxygen, then use an internal defense laser to detonate the extremely explosive mixture.

 

My hull shudders violently, but my repair nanites have done their job, freeing the exterior hatches enough that the force of the explosion blows them loose, venting much of the force of the blast. The heat is more than sufficient to completely sterilize my missile deck.

 

“Thank you, Major.”

 

“You're welcome, Unit BUB,” he replies. He dials his sidearm to the needle beam setting, then turns to look into my optical pickup.

 

“Please, Major. I know she would thank you if she could.”

 

He nods, turning to my Commander and saluting her corpse before placing the muzzle against her temple and pulling the trigger.

 

 

 

**Finis**

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Author's notes:_

_The names of the Bolos (and a few other characters) are taken from the original “Day of the Dead” movie by George Romero, and parallels between the characters range from obvious to subtle. Bub was clearly smarter than the average zombie, Rhodes was mostly notable for being shot by Bub, and while Steel was a vulgar, sexist, bigoted asshole, I've long contended that he was the smartest (or at least most practical) member of the military contingent, with the clearest view of what needed to be done._

_Also included are random shout-outs to H.P. Lovecraft's stories, Joel Rosenberg's “Guardians of the Flame” series, the web comic “Schlock Mercenary”, and a popular brand of nautically-themed rum._

_Two other Bolos are mentioned in this story, referring to the novel “The Road to Damascus” by John Ringo and Linda Evans, and the story “Memories of Erin” by Robert Greenberger in the anthology “Last Stand.”_

_For readers that would like some assistance in visualizing the geography of the story, look here:_

_<http://arizona.hometownlocator.com/maps/distance-directions2.cfm?sitgreaves%20pass@35.0458356,-114.3605137> _

_Landing City is in roughly the same location as Kingman, AZ. The pointer is on Sitgreaves Pass. The railway generally follows the same route as I-40, except closer to the mountains on the western side. And anyone with a smattering of German and Spanish should be able to figure out the approximate location of Engelsburg. (Hint: It's off the edge of the map, to the west.)_


End file.
